CHAPTER XVII
That night, between ten and eleven, Stanley Mitchell came forth fromTucson Jail. Pete Johnson was not there to meet him; fearing espionagefrom Cobre, he sent Boland, instead. Boland led the ex-prisoner to therendezvous, where Pete and Joe Benavides awaited their coming withfour saddle horses, the pick of the Benavides _caballada_, and twopack-horses. Except for a small package of dynamite--a dozen stickssecurely wrapped, an afterthought that Pete put into effect betweenpoker game and supper-time--the packs contained only the barestnecessities, with water kegs, to be filled later. The four friends wereriding light; but each carried a canteen at the saddle horn, and a rifle.
They rode quietly out through the southern end of the town, Joe Benavidesleading the way. They followed a trail through Robles' Pass and westwardthrough the Altar Valley. They watered at the R E Ranch at three in themorning, waking Barnaby Robles; him they bound to silence; and there theylet their horses rest and eat of the R E corn while they prepared a hastybreakfast. Then they pushed on, to waste no brief coolness of the morninghours. Pete kept word and spirit of his promise to Dewing; not until daywas broad in the sky did he tell Stanley of Dewing's disclosure, tidingsthat displeased Stanley not at all.
It was a gay party on that bright desert morning, though the way ledthrough a dismal country of giant cactus, cholla and mesquite. Pete notedwith amusement that Stanley and Frank-Francis showed some awkwardness andrestraint with each other. Their clipped _g_'s were carefully restoredand their conversation was otherwise conducted on the highest plane. Thedropping of this superfluous final letter had become habitual withStanley through carelessness and conformance to environment. With Bolandit was a matter of principle, practiced in a spirit of perversity, inrebellion against a world too severely regulated.
By ten in the morning the heat drove them to cover for sleep and nooningin the scanty shade of a mesquite motte. Long before that, the two younggentlemen had arrived at an easier footing and the _g_'s were once morecomfortably dropped. But poor Boland, by this time, was ill at ease inbody. He was not inexperienced in hard riding of old; and in his home onthe northern tip of Manhattan, where the Subway goes on stilts and theElevated runs underground, he had allowed himself the luxury of a saddlehorse and ridden no little, in a mild fashion. But he was in no wayhardened to such riding as this.
Mr. Peter Johnson was gifted with prescience beyond the common run; butfor this case, which would have been the first thought for most men, hisforesight had failed. During the long six-hour nooning Boland sufferedwith intermittent cramps in his legs, wakeful while the others slept. Hemade no complaint; but, though he kept his trouble from words, he couldnot hold his face straight. When they started on at four o'clock, Peteturned aside for the little spring in Coyote Pass, instead of keeping tothe more direct but rougher trail to the Fresnal, over the Baboquivari,as first planned. Boland promised to be something of a handicap; which,had he but known it, was all the better for the intents of Mr. SomethingDewing.
* * * * *
For Mr. Dewing had not made good his strategic retreat to Old Mexico.When Pete Johnson left the card room Dewing disappeared, indeed, takingwith him his two confederates. But they went no farther than to a modestand unassuming abode near by, known to the initiated as the House ofRefuge. There Mr. Dewing did three things: first, he dispatchedmessengers to bring tidings of Mr. Johnson and his doings; second, hewrote to Mr. Mayer Zurich, at Cobre, and sent it by the first mail west,so that the stage should bring it to Cobre by the next night; third, hetelegraphed to a trusty satellite at Silverbell, telling him to hold anautomobile in readiness to carry a telegram to Mayer Zurich, shouldDewing send such telegram later. Then Dewing lay down to snatch a littlesleep.
The messengers returned; Mr. Johnson and his Eastern friend wereforegathered with Joe Benavides, they reported; there were horses inevidence--six horses. Mr. Dewing rose and took station to watch the jailfrom a safe place; he saw Stanley come out with Boland. The so-calledlumbermen had provided horses in the meanwhile. Unostentatiously, andat a safe distance, the three followed the cavalcade that set out fromthe Benavides house.
Dewing posted his lumbermen in relays--one near the entrance of Robles'Pass; one beyond the R E Ranch, which they circled to avoid; himselffollowing the tracks of the four friends until he was assured, beyonddoubt, that they shaped their course for the landmark of BaboquivariPeak. Then he retraced his steps, riding slowly perforce, lest any greatdust should betray him. In the burning heat of noon he rejoined Scotty,the first relay; he scribbled his telegram on the back of an old envelopeand gave it to Scotty. That worthy spurred away to the R E Ranch; thehour for concealment was past--time was the essence of the contract.Dewing followed at a slowed gait.
Scotty delivered the telegram to his mate, who set off at a gallop forTucson. Between them they covered the forty miles in four hours, or alittle less. Before sunset an auto set out from Silverbell, bearing themessage to Cobre.
* * * * *
At that same sunset time, while Pete Johnson and his friends were yet farfrom Coyote Pass, Mayer Zurich, in Cobre, spoke harshly to Mr. OscarMitchell.
"I don't know where you get any finger in this pie," he said implacably."You didn't pay me to find any mines for you. You hired me to hound yourcousin; and I've hounded him to jail. That lets you out. I wouldn'tpush the matter if I were you. This isn't New York. Things happenprovidentially out here when men persist in shoving in where they'renot wanted."
"I have thought of that," said Mitchell, "and have taken steps tosafeguard myself. It may be worth your while to know that I have copiesof all your letters and reports. I brought them to Arizona with me. Ihave left them in the hands of my confidential clerk, at a place unknownto you, with instructions to place them in the hands of the sheriff ofthis county unless I return to claim them in person within ten days, andto proceed accordingly."
Zurich stared at him and laughed in a coarse, unfeeling manner. "Oh, youdid, hey? Did you think of that all by yourself? Did it ever occur to youthat I have your instructions, over your own signature, filed away, andthat they would make mighty interesting reading? Your clerk can proceedaccordingly any time he gets good and ready. Go on, man! You make metired! You've earned no share in this mine, and you'll get no shareunless you pay well for it. If we find the mine, we'll need cash money,to be sure; but if we find it, we can get all the money we want withoutyours. Go on away! You bother me!"
"I have richly earned a share without putting in any money," saidMitchell with much dignity. "This man Johnson, that you fear so much--Ihave laid him by the heels for several years to come, and left you aclear field. Is that nothing?"
"You poor, blundering, meddling, thick-headed fool," said Zurichunpleasantly; "can't you see what you've done? You've locked up our bestchance to lay a finger on that mine. Now I'll have to get your CousinStanley out of jail; and that won't be easy."
"What for?"
"So I can watch him and get hold of the copper claim, of course."
"Why don't you leave him in jail and hunt for the claim till you findit?" demanded lawyer Mitchell, willing to defer his triumph until themoment when it should be most effective.
"Find it? Yes; we might find it in a million years, maybe, or we mightfind it in a day. Pima County alone is one fourth the size of the Stateof New York. And the claim may be in Yuma County, Maricopa, or Pinal--oreven in Old Mexico, for all we know. We feel like it was somewhere southof here; but that's only a hunch. It might as well be north or west. Andyou don't know this desert country. It's simply hell! To go out therehunting for anything you happen to find--that's plenty bad enough. Butto go out at random, hunting for one particular ledge of rock, when youdon't know where it is or what it looks like--that is not to be thoughtof. Too much like dipping up the Atlantic Ocean with a fountain pen tosuit me!"
"Then, by your own showing," rejoined Mitchell triumphantly, "I am notonly entitled to a share of the mine, but I am fairly deserv
ing of thebiggest share. I met this ignorant mountaineer, of whom you stand in suchawe, took his measure, and won his confidence. What you failed to do byrisk, with numbers on your side, what you shrink from attempting by laborand patience, I have accomplished by an hour's diplomacy. Johnson hasgiven me full directions for finding the mine--and a map."
"What? Johnson would never do that in a thousand years!"
"It is as I say. See for yourself." Mitchell displayed the documentproudly.
Zurich took one look at that amazing map; then his feelings overcame him;he laid his head on the table and wept.
Painful explanation ensued; comparison with an authentic map carriedconviction to Mitchell's whirling mind.
"And you thought you could take Johnson's measure?" said Zurich inconclusion. "Man, he played with you. It is by no means certain thatJohnson will like it in jail. If he comes back here, and finds that youhave not been near your cousin, he may grow suspicious. And if he evergets after you, the Lord have mercy on your soul! Well, there comes thestage. I must go and distribute the mail. Give me this map of yours; Imust have it framed. I wouldn't take a fortune for it. Tinhorn Mountain!Dear, oh, dear!"
He came back a little later in a less mirthful mood. Had not thecrestfallen Mitchell been thoroughly engrossed with his own hurts,he might have perceived that Zurich himself was considerably subdued.
"It is about time for you to take steps again," said Zurich. "Glance overthis letter. It came on the stage just now. Dated at Tucson last night."
Mitchell read this:
DEAR MISTER: Johnson is back and no pitch hot. Look out for yourself. Heover-reached me; he knows who got Bat Wiley's money, and he can prove it.
He thinks I am doing a dive for Mexico. But I'm not. I am watching him.I think he means to make a dash for the mine to-night, and I'm going tofollow him till I get the direction. Of course he may go south intoMexico. If he does he'll have too big a start to be caught. But if hegoes west, you can head him off and cut sign on him. Slim is atSilverbell, waiting with a car to bring you a wire from me, which I'llsend only if Johnson goes west, or thereabouts. If I send the messageat all, it should follow close on this letter. Slim drives his car likea drunk Indian. Be ready. Johnson is too much for me. Maybe you canhandle him.
D.
"I would suggest Patagonia," said Zurich kindly. "No; get yourself sentup to the pen for life--that'll be best. He wouldn't look for you there."
* * * * *
Zurich found but three of his confederacy available--Jim Scarboro andBill Dorsey, the Jim and Bill of the horse camp and the shootingmatch--and Eric Anderson; but these were his best. They made a pack; theysaddled horses; they filled canteens--and rifles.
Slim's car came to Cobre at half-past nine. The message from Dewing ranthus:
For Fishhook Mountain. Benavides, S., J., and another. Ten words.
* * * * *
Five minutes later the four confederates thundered south through thenight. At daylight they made a change of horses at a far-lying Mexicanrancheria, Zurich's check paying the shot; they bought two five-gallonkegs and lashed them to the pack, to be filled when needed. At nine inthe morning they came to Fishhook Mountain.
Fishhook Mountain is midmost in the great desert; Quijotoa Valley,desolate and dim, lies to the east of it, gullied, dust-deviled, andforlorn.
The name gives the mountain's shape--two fishhooks bound together back toback, one prong to the east, the other to the west, the barbs pointing tothe north. Sweetwater Spring is on the barb of the eastern hook; threemiles west, on the main shank, an all but impassable trail climbed toHardscrabble Tanks.
At the foot of this trail, Zurich and his party halted. Far out on theeastern plain they saw, through Zurich's spyglass, a slow procession,heading directly for them.
"We've beat 'em to it!" said Eric.
"That country out there is washed out something terrible, for all itlooks so flat," said Jim Scarboro sympathetically. "They've got to rideslow. Gee, I bet it's hot out there!"
"One thing sure," said Eric: "there's no such mine as that on Fishhook.I've prospected every foot of it."
"They'll noon at Sweetwater," said Zurich. "You boys go on up toHardscrabble. Take my horse. I'll go over to Sweetwater and hide out inthe rocks to see what I can find out. There's a stony place where I canget across without leaving any trail.
"Unsaddle and water. Leave the pack here, you'd better, and my saddle.They are not coming here--nothing to come for. You can sleep, turn about,one watching the horses, and come on down when you see me coming back."
It was five hours later when the watchers on Hardscrabble saw the Johnsonparty turn south, up the valley between barb and shank of the mountain;an hour after that Zurich rejoined them, as they repacked at the trailfoot, and made his report:
"I couldn't hear where they're going; but it is somewhere west orwesterly, and it's a day farther on. Say, it's a good thing I went overthere. What do you suppose that fiend Johnson is going to do? Youwouldn't guess it in ten years. You fellows all know there's onlyone way to get out of that Fishhook Valley--unless you turn round andcome back the way you go in?"
"I don't," said Bill. "I've never been down this way before."
"You can get out through Horse-Thief Gap, 'way in the southwest. There'sa place near the top where there's just barely room for a horse to getthrough between the cliffs. You can ride a quarter mile and touch therocks on each side with your hands. Johnson's afraid some one will seethose tracks they're makin' and follow 'em up. I heard him tellin' it. Sothe damned old fool has lugged dynamite all the way from Tucson, andafter they get through he's going to stuff the powder behind some ofthose chimneys and plug Horse-Thief so damn full of rock that a goatcan't get over," said Zurich indignantly. "Now what do you think of that?Most suspicious old idiot I ever did see!"
"I call it good news. That copper must be something extraordinary, orhe'd never take such a precaution," said Eric.
Zurich answered as they saddled:
"If we had followed them in there, we would have lost forty miles. As itis, they gain twenty miles on us while we ride back round the north endof the mountain, besides an hour I lost hoofing it back."
"I don't see that we've lost much," said Jim Scarboro. "We've got theirdirection and our horses are fresh beside of theirs. We'll make up thattwenty miles and be in at the finish to-morrow; we're four to four. Let'sride."
Tall Eric rubbed his chin.
"That Benavides," he said, "is a tough one. He is a known man. He's asgood as Johnson when it comes to shooting."
"I'm not afraid of the shooting, and I'm not afraid of death," saidZurich impatiently; "but I am leery about that cussed old man. He'll finda way to fool us--see if he don't!"
* * * * *
A strong wind blew scorching from the south the next day; Johnson turnedaside from the sagebrush country to avoid the worst sand, and bent northto a long half-circle, through a country of giant saguaro and clumpedyuccas; once they passed over a neck of lava hillocks thinly drifted overwith sand. The heat was ghastly; on their faces alkali dust, plasteredwith sweat, caked in the stubble of two days' growth; their eyes werered-rimmed and swollen. Boland, bruised and racked and cramped, sufferedagonies.
It was ten in the morning when Joe touched Pete's arm:
"_Que cosa?_" He pointed behind them and to the north, to a long,low-lying streak of dust.
"Trouble, Don Hooaleece? I think so--yes."
They had no spyglass; but it was hardly needed. The dust streak followedthem, almost parallel to their course. It gained on them. They changedtheir gait from a walk to a trot. The dust came faster; they werepursued.
That was a weird race. There was no running, no galloping; only a steady,relentless trot that jarred poor Boland to the bone. After an hour,during which the pursuers gained steadily, Pete called a halt. They tookthe packs from the led animals and turned them loose, to go back toFish
hook Mountain; they refilled their canteens from the kegs and pressedon. The pursuit had gained during the brief delay; plainly to be seennow, queer little bobbing black figures against the north.
They rode on, a little faster now. But at the end of half an hour theblack figures were perceptibly closer.
"They're gaining on us," said Boland, turning his red-lidded eyes onStan. "They have better horses, or fresher."
"No," said Stan; "they're riding faster--that's all. They haven't achance; they can't keep it up at the rate they're doing now. They're fivemiles to the north, and it isn't far to the finish. See that huddle oflittle hills in the middle of the plain, ahead and a little to the south?That's our place, and we can't be caught before we get there. Pete issaving our horses; they're going strong. These fellows are five milesaway yet. They've shot their bolt, and they know it."
He was right. The bobbing black shapes came abreast--held even--fellback--came again--hung on, and fell back at last, hopelessly distancedwhen the goal was still ten miles away. Pete and his troop held onat the same unswerving gait--trot, trot, trot! The ten miles becamenine--eight--seven--
Sharp-eyed Benavides touched Pete's arm and pointed. "What's that? Bygar, eet is a man, amigo; a man in some troubles!"
It was a man, a black shape that waved a hat frantically from a swell ofrising ground a mile to the south. Pete swerved his course.
"You've got the best horse, Joe. Gallop up and see what's wrong. I'mafraid it's Jackson Carr."
It was Jackson Carr. He limped to meet Benavides; the Mexican turned andswung his hat; the three urged their wearied horses to a gallop.
"Trouble?" said Pete, leaping down.
"Bobby. I tied up his pony and hobbled the rest. At daylight they wasn'tin sight. Bobby went after 'em. I waited a long time and then I hobbledoff down here to see. Wagon's five or six miles north. One of my spanscome from down in Sonora, somewhere--Santa Elena, wherever that is--andI reckon they're dragging it for home and the others have followed,unless--unless Bob's pony has fallen, or something. He didn't take anywater. He could follow the tracks back here on this hard ground. But inthe sand down there--with all this wind--" His eye turned to theshimmering white sandhills along the south, with the dust clouds highabove them.
"Boland, you'll have to give Carr your horse," said Pete. "It's his boy;and you're 'most dead anyhow. We'll light a big blaze when we find him,and another on this edge of the sandhills in case you don't see thefirst. We'll make two of 'em, a good ways apart, if everything is allright. You take a canteen and crawl under a bush and rest a while. Youneed it. If you feel better after a spell, you can follow these horsetracks back and hobble along to the wagon; or we can pick you up aswe come back. Come on, boys!"
"But your mine?" said Carr. He pointed to a slow dust streak that passedalong the north. "I saw you coming--two bunches. Ain't those fellowsafter your mine? 'Cause if they are, they'll sure find it. You've beenriding straight for them little hills out there all alone in the bigmiddle of the plain."
"Damn the mine!" said Pete. "We've been playing. We've got man's work todo now. No; there's no use splitting up and sending one or two to themine. That mine is a four-man job. So is this; and a better one. We'reall needed here. To hell with the mine! Come on!"
* * * * *
They found Bobby, far along in the afternoon, in the sandhills. His lipswere cracked and bleeding; his tongue was beginning to blacken and swell;his eyes were swollen nearly shut from alkali dust, and there was an uglygash in the hair's edge above his left ear; he was caked with blood andmire, and he clung to the saddle horn with both hands--but he drove sixhorses before him.
They gave him, a little at a time, the heated water from their canteens.A few small drinks cheered him up amazingly. After a big soapweed wastouched off for a signal fire, he was able to tell his story.
"Naw, I ain't hurt none to speak of; but I'm some tired. I hit a highlope and catched up with them in the aidge of the sandhills," he said."I got 'em all unhobbled but old Heck; and then that ornery Nig horsekicked me in the head--damn him! Knocked me out quite a spell. Sun wasmiddlin' high when I come to--horses gone, and the cussed pony trailedalong after them. It was an hour or two before I caught sight of 'emagain. I was spitting cotton a heap. Dad always told me to carry waterwith me, and I sure was wishing I'd minded him. Well, I went 'way roundand headed 'em off--and, dog-gone, they up and run round me. That Ziphorse was the ringleader. Every time, just as I was about to get 'emturned, he'd make a break and the rest would follow, hellity-larrup! OldHeck has cut his feet all to pieces with the hobbles--old fool! I headed'em four or five times--five, I guess--and they kept getting away, andrunning farther every time before they stopped and went to grazing. Aftera while the pony snagged his bridle in a bush and I got him. Then Idropped my twine on old Heck and unhobbled him, and come on back. Give meanother drink, Pete."
They rode back very slowly to the northern edge of the sandhills andlighted their two signal fires. An answering fire flamed in the north, toshow that Boland had seen their signals.
"I reckon we'll stop and rest here a while till it gets cooler," observedPete. "Might as well, now. We can start in an hour and get in to thewagon by dark. Reckon Frank Boland was glad to see them two fires! I betthat boy sure hated to be left behind. Pretty tough--but it had to bedone. This has been a thunderin' hard trip on Frankie and he's stood upto it fine. Good stuff!" He turned to the boy: "Well, Bobby, you had ahard time wranglin' them to-day--but you got 'em, didn't you, son?"
"That's what I went after," said Bobby.
* * * * *
Boland stiffened after his rest. He made two small marches toward thewagon, but his tortured muscles were so stiff and sore that he gave it upat last. After he saw and answered the signal fires he dropped off tosleep.
He was awakened by a jingling of spurs and a trampling of hoofs. He gotto his feet hurriedly. Four horsemen reined up beside him--not PeteJohnson and his friends, but four strangers, who looked at him curiously.Their horses were sadly travel-stained.
"Anything wrong, young man? We saw your fire?"
"No--not now." Boland's thoughts were confused and his head sang. Heattributed these things to sleepiness; in fact, he was sickening to afever.
"You look mighty peaked," said the spokesman. "Got water? Anything we cando for you?"
"Nothing the matter with me, except that I'm pretty well played out. AndI've been anxious. There was a boy lost, or hurt--I don't know which. Butit's all right now. They lit two fires. That was to be the signal ifthere was nothing seriously wrong. I let the boy's father take myhorse--man by the name of Carr."
"And the others? That was Pete Johnson, wasn't it? He went after theboy?"
"Yes. And young Mitchell and Joe Benavides."
Zurich glanced aside at his companions. Dorsey's back was turned. JimScarboro was swearing helplessly under his breath. Tall Eric had takenoff his hat and fumbled with it; the low sun was ruddy in his brighthair. Perhaps it was that same sun which flamed so swiftly in Zurich'sface.
"We might as well go back," he said dully, and turned his horse's headtoward the little huddle of hills in the southwest.
Boland watched them go with a confused mind, and sank back to sleepagain.
* * * * *
"Jackson," said Pete in the morning, "you and Frank stay here. I reckonthere'll be no use to take the wagon down to the old claim; but us threeare going down to take a look, now we've come this far. Frank says he'sfeeling better, but he don't look very peart. You get him to sleep allyou can. If we should happen to want you, we'll light a big fire. Solong!"
"Don Hooaleece," said Benavides, very bright-eyed, when they had ridden alittle way from camp, "how is eet to be? Eef eet is war I am wis you toze beeg black box."
"Joe," said Pete, "I've dodged and crept and slid and crawled andclimbed. I've tried to go over, under, and around. Now I'm goingthrough."
T
hey came to the copper hill before eight. They found no one; but therewere little stone monuments scattered on all the surrounding hills, and abig monument on the highest point of the little hill they had calledtheir own.
"They've gone," said Stan. "Very wise of them. Well, let's go see theworst."
They dismounted and walked to the hilltop. The big monument, built ofloose stones and freshly dug slabs of ore, flashed green and blue in thesun. Stan found a folded paper between two flat stones.
"Here's their location notice," he said.
He started to unfold it; a word caught his eye and his jaw dropped. Heheld the notice over, half opened, so that Pete and Joe could see thelast paragraph:
And the same shall be known as the Bobby Carr Mine.
WITNESSESJim ScarboroWilliam DorseyEric AndersonC. Mayer Zurich
LOCATORSPeter Wallace JohnsonStanley Mitchell
"Zere is a note," said Joe; "I see eet wizzinside."
Stanley unfolded the location notice. A note dropped out. Pete picked itup and read it aloud:
Pete: We did not know about the boy, or we would have helped, of course.Only for him you had us beat. So this squares that up.
Your location does not take in quite all the hill. So we located thelittle end piece for ourselves. We think that is about right.
Yours trulyC. Mayer Zurich
Copper Streak Trail Page 17
